ISABEL SHARPE was not born pen in hand like so many of her fellow writers. After she quit work to stay home with her firstborn son and nearly went out of her mind, she started writing. After more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon, a second son and eventually a new, improved husband, Isabel is more than happy with her choices these days. She loves hearing from readers. Write to her at www.isabelsharpe.com.

To my dear friend and fellow author Delores

Fossen, who patiently introduced me

to the fascinating world of the Air Force.

I am very grateful.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

“I HAD A great time today, thanks, Crystal.” Kendra Lonergan smiled at the attractive middle-aged widow and got a wide smile back. A first! This was good progress. They’d spent the past hour down on Rat Beach tossing balls into the Pacific waves for Byron, the golden retriever Kendra regularly borrowed from a friend for appointments with her dog-loving clients.

“I had fun, too.” Crystal bent and stroked Byron’s reddish fur. “It felt good to be on the beach again. Thanks, Kendra.”

“You are welcome. See you next week!” Kendra tugged Byron’s leash and gave Crystal a quick wave before leading the dog back down the block to the Lexus minivan that had belonged to her parents. For a while now she’d been intending to sell the car and buy something smaller, but she didn’t ever seem to have time, and wasn’t sure what she’d replace it with. In the meantime, it was a nice—if a bit tough—reminder of the family she’d lost. “Up you get, Byron. I’ll take you home now.”

She unhooked his leash; Byron bounded into the car and settled on the towel Kendra kept on the backseat. What an amazing animal—she never had any trouble with him. His owner, Lena, Kendra’s friend since kindergarten, worked typical lawyer hours and was delighted to have Byron out getting exercise whenever Kendra needed him. Kendra had thought about getting a dog herself, but...she hadn’t done that yet either.

The Lexus swung smoothly out of its parking place on Pullman Lane in Redondo Beach; she turned it south onto Blossom Lane, heading toward the Pacific Coast Highway and her hometown of Palos Verdes Estates, a hilltop oasis overlooking the vast urban sprawl of L.A. She was back living in the house she’d grown up in, a temporary situation that had stretched on as the weeks and months passed. The house was much too big for one person, but it was stuffed with memories Kendra wasn’t yet ready to leave behind.

Climbing the steeply curving roads of Palos Verdes Estates, windows rolled down to enjoy the cool November breeze, she turned up the volume on a Mumford and Sons song she loved, “Little Lion Man,” peeking occasionally at the view of Santa Monica Bay, which became more and more spectacular as she ascended.

She left the view behind and turned onto Via Cataluna, then into the driveway of the house where Lena lived with her husband, Paul. Her cell rang, a private caller.

“This is Kendra.” She switched off the engine.

“Kendra Lonergan? It’s Matty Cartwright.”

Kendra blinked, taking a moment to place the name. Matty Cartwright? From Palos Verdes High School? Whom Kendra had last seen years ago? How typical of a Cartwright to think she’d need no further introduction than her name. “Hi, Matty.”

“I’m calling to— Oh, uh, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

Kendra pushed out of the car, rolling her eyes, not in the mood for friendly small talk. She hadn’t seen Matty since her sophomore year, when Matty was a senior, and didn’t think she’d ever spoken to her. “I’m fine. What a surprise to hear from you.”

“I’m calling about Jameson.”

Jameson. Kendra grimaced, opening the car’s rear door. Matty’s younger brother had been in Kendra’s grade from Montemalaga Elementary School through Palos Verdes High School. Not her favorite classmate.

She followed Byron to Lena’s front entrance, where she fumbled for the borrowed keys in the pocket of her sweatshirt, not really anxious to be having this conversation. “What about Jameson?”

“I wondered if you could work with him.”

Kendra froze. Work with Jameson Cartwright? As in help him? After the way he’d treated her? Byron whimpered impatiently. She unlocked her friend’s door; the dog raced toward the kitchen. “Whoa, back up a second, Matty. Where is he, what happened to him and how did you hear about me and what I do?”

A sigh of exasperation came over the line. Kendra gritted her teeth, tempted to tell Matty where to stick her Cartwright attitude.

“I’m sorry, Kendra.” Matty gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “I’m not making any sense. I’m just so upset.”

Kendra hung Byron’s leash in the foyer closet, feeling an unwelcome twinge of sympathy. “It’s okay. Just start at the beginning.”

The slobbery sound of Byron lapping water came from the kitchen. Kendra wandered into Lena’s airy living room, able to picture Jameson Cartwright as if she’d just seen him the day before. Nordic like his whole family—blond hair, blue eyes, high forehead, strong jaw. Yet she couldn’t describe him as severely handsome, like the rest of them, because of his one fatal flaw: a wide, sensual mouth more suited to lazy smiles and lingering kisses than sneering and barking orders. Totally wasted on him. He must hate that mouth every time he looked in the mirror.

All through elementary and middle school he’d harassed her pretty steadily, mostly egged on by his odious older twin brothers. In high school there had been fewer incidents, since Hayden and Mark had graduated, thank God. Senior year Jameson had whipped Kendra for class president, not because he’d run a brilliant campaign, but because she’d been eccentric, brainy and overweight, and he was a Cartwright. Every Cartwright sibling had been president of his or her class.

“You know how our family is all in the military.” It wasn’t a question.

“Air Force, right?” Pilots going back generations, most attaining high rank or managing to be heroes of one sort or another, at least according to the Palos Verdes Peninsula News, which had done a rather gushy piece on the family some years back that Kendra had skimmed and tossed.

“Jameson did Air Force ROTC at Chicago University. He graduated last June with the Legion of Valor Bronze Cross for Achievement.”

Kendra interrupted her who-cares eye roll. Wait, this past June? Kendra had graduated from UCLA and gone on to complete a two-year master’s program in counseling at California State by then. “He just graduated?”

“It’s a family tradition to take a year off before college and travel in Europe. Jameson settled in Spain and...sort of took two. Anyway, after college, he finished basic officer training at Maxwell Air Force Base, a distinguished graduate for top marks in test scores and leadership drills.”

My, my. How lucky Kendra was that she’d never have to suffer the pain of being so utterly perfect.

She entered Lena’s bright yellow kitchen, where Byron was already lying in his crate, tired out from his frantic exercise at the beach. Such a good dog. “Then?”

“Then he was injured his first day of specialty training at Keesler Air Force Base, in Mississippi. He tore the ACL in his right knee and had to have surgery.” Matty’s voice thickened. “He’s back home in Palos Verdes Estates on thirty days of personal leave while he continues recovering enough to go back and recover some more.”

“Tough break.” Why was Matty telling her this? Jameson needed a Scrabble partner? Someone to read him bedtime stories? Kendra closed Byron in his crate and blew him a kiss. “What do you need me for?”

“He, uh...” Matty mumbled something. It was suddenly difficult to hear her, as if she was speaking through cloth. Kendra pressed the phone harder to her ear. “...accident...with a stray...”

Kendra waited impatiently. Stray what? Bullet? Land mine? Grenade? “Sorry, I didn’t hear. Accident with a stray what?”

“Cat.” She said the word sharply. “Jameson was injured tripping over a cat. On his way to dinner.”

Omigod! Kendra clapped a hand over her mouth to keep Matty from hearing her involuntary giggle. Seriously? Not that she’d wish that miserable an injury on anyone—even Jameson Cartwright—but karma must have had a blast arranging that one.

“What a shame,” she managed weakly, barely stifling more laughter. Latest Cartwright’s Journey to Hero Status Cut Short in Fierce Battle. Victim’s last words: I tawt I taw a puddy tat.

“You can imagine what this means to a Cartwright.” Matty spoke stiffly. “This could end his military career before it even starts.”

But how is the cat? Kendra couldn’t bring herself to be wiseass enough to ask. Though she couldn’t imagine in a million years making a statement like “You can imagine what this means to a Lonergan.” Like they were a rare and special breed of humans the rest of the world could barely comprehend. “I’m sure it’s been hard.”

“It’s been awful.” Her voice broke, making Kendra feel guilty for being...catty—ha-ha. “Jameson is furious and severely depressed. I’ve called several times. He only picked up once and would barely speak to me. He won’t talk to the rest of the family at all. I don’t know if he’s eating or anything. I’ve never seen him like this. Can you help him?”

Kendra’s laughter died in the face of Matty’s anguish. Depression was not a joke, no matter the cause. Kendra had been paralyzed for months after the sudden deaths of her parents mere days after her graduation from college. “How did you hear about me?”

“I was talking to a friend whose friend recommended you. She said you get referrals from doctors and therapists and hospitals, that your work supplements whatever care they’re giving people in various stages of grief. That your methods are unusual but effective. Jameson won’t accept traditional talk therapy.”

“No?” Oh, there was a big surprise. Cartwright men didn’t need some sissy talking out of their feelings. Why would they, when it was so easy to punch or ridicule someone and feel tons better about themselves?

“We...weren’t exactly raised on sensitivity and openness.”

Well. Kendra raised her eyebrows at the unexpected admission, and at the bitterness in Matty’s voice. At least she recognized that much. “I’m not sure I’m the right person to—”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“You do?” She doubted it.

“That Cartwrights don’t have any whining rights. That I’m being arrogant and overprotective looking for professional help for a guy who isn’t suffering from anything more than wounded pride. That he should get over himself and deal.”

“Uh...” Darn. That was exactly what she’d been thinking. Except the last part. Telling a depressed person to get over it was not generally effective.

“If it was one of my other brothers or my dad, I’d agree with you. There’s no way I’d ask you to try to help one of them. But Jameson is different.” Her voice softened. “He’s always struggled to fit in. I think life would have been easier for both of us if we’d been born into a different family.”

Kendra blinked in astonishment. She didn’t know Matty at all, but Jameson? Struggling? He’d always seemed to fit the Cartwright mold to perfection—arrogant, entitled, self-centered...should she go on? “Huh.”

“I know, you don’t believe me. But he’s different from the other guys in the family. And that’s why this is hitting him so hard. It’s worse than just losing out on his planned future. It’s like the final proof that he can’t cut it. You know? I don’t see it that way, and Mom...who knows...but you can bet Dad and my brothers do.”

Kendra stood in Lena’s living room, phone pressed to her ear, having a very hard time processing this information, given that it contradicted everything she’d ever thought about Jameson.

“I just know that I can’t help him right now, and while traditional doctors and therapists might, he won’t go, and he really, really needs help.”

“What makes you think he’d let me help him?”

“He...knows you.”

Kendra gave an incredulous laugh. He knew her? He knew how to typecast her, he knew which buttons to push and he knew how to make her feel loathed and worthless. Thank God her parents had been psychologists and had taken time and care helping her through the pitfalls of childhood with her self-esteem intact. “Not very well. In any case, I’m pretty booked...”

“Please, Kendra. I’ll beg if you want me to. You’re the first ray of hope I’ve had in weeks.” Matty sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. “I haven’t slept all night in so long I forget what it’s like.”

Oh, geez. Kendra closed her eyes, torn between sympathy for Matty and her instinct telling her she wanted less than nothing to do with men like the Cartwrights ever again.

“Just call him, Kendra. Talk to him. If you think I’m overreacting or it doesn’t feel right, then fine, you don’t have to take him on. We’ll go another route. I just don’t know what that would be at this point.”

Kendra forced herself into motion, letting herself out of Lena’s house. Committing to one call was an easy out, not really saying yes or no, which Matty undoubtedly knew and was exploiting. She was a Cartwright, after all.

Maybe Jameson had grown up some. Maybe Kendra had misjudged him all along, typecasting him as he had her. Hard to imagine, but Matty would know her brother better than Kendra did.

“I’ll talk to him.” She climbed into the Lexus, started back down the hill toward her house.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Matty’s relief was humble and real, no triumph in her tone. “He’s house-sitting at a friend’s condo. I’ll give you the address and his cell. Thank you so much.”

“Sure.” Kendra sighed, feeling both noble and trapped. Lena would have a fit when she told her.

“Um. There is just one more thing.”

Uh-oh. “What’s that?”

“I’d rather you didn’t tell Jameson that I’m behind this. Even though he and I are close, he’s...a little sensitive when it comes to family right now.”

“Meaning he wants all of you out of his face even if you’re trying to help.”

“That would be it exactly.”

Pretty classic depression symptom. Though if Matty’s description of Jameson as the outcast was correct, he could also be protecting himself from the rest of the family’s judgment.

Damn. This was almost intriguing. “Okay. I won’t mention you. But I’m not sure he’ll buy that six years after our graduation I suddenly want to catch up.”

“Tell him you’re part of a new program the Air Force is trying out for soldiers on medical leave. Or that his commanding officer or surgeon heard of you through some doctor you work with here. Something that leaves him no choice.”

Clearly Matty had thought this through. “So I should lie while I try to gain his trust?”

“Oof.” Matty whistled silently. “Do you have to put it that way?”

“Can’t you get your commander or some general to write a fake letter?”

“Not me.” Matty laughed lightly. “I’m not in the Air Force. I’m an actress.”

Kendra brought her car to an abrupt halt at an intersection before she realized there was no stop sign; luckily there was no one behind her. “You’re an actress.”

“Between jobs I sell real estate, but right now I’m in a musical called Backspace at the Pasadena Playhouse. I have a small part, but it’s a job.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable.

“It’s an impressive job.” Well, how about that. Her parents must have nearly dropped dead. A canker on the Cartwright family tree! And now Jameson injured and out of his training program? A regular crumbling dynasty. “I’ll come up with something.”

“Thank you, Kendra. Please stay in touch. And send the bill to me. How much do you charge, by the way?”

Kendra told her.

“What? You’re kidding.”

Kendra was used to surprise and had the explanation for her bargain-basement rates ready. “I want my services available to as many people as possible. I’m not in this to get rich. I like working with people, and I don’t want to be limited by fees so high that my clients are thinking every second has to count triple for me to be worth their while.”

Happily, money was no problem. Great-Grandpa Lonergan had made a fortune in banking in the early twentieth century, and Kendra’s ever-cautious parents had had plenty of life insurance on top of that. She would never have to work, though she knew she’d always choose to.

“How about I throw in two tickets to my show?”

“You’re on.” Kendra pulled into her driveway on Via Rincon and parked outside the garage, gazing affectionately at the white stucco house with the red-tile roof her grandparents had built into the side of the hill.

“You know, what you do is really remarkable.”

“Thanks.” Kendra shrugged. It didn’t feel remarkable. It was her business, and like any business it could be frustrating, boring, annoying, but overall more deeply satisfying than anything she could imagine doing. For many clients who’d experienced loss, grief and loneliness had become so much of who they were, they didn’t want to let it go. Proving they still had plenty of life to live and plenty to offer others was about as good as it got.

She took down Jameson’s number, punched off the phone and climbed down from the car. Jameson Cartwright, for God’s sake. One of the last people she’d ever imagined seeing willingly again, let alone in a situation where he needed her help.

Following the curving brick path from the driveway, she passed her dad’s Meyer lemon tree, heavy with still-green fruit, and the jasmine bush bought by her mom, planted clumsily by Kendra and her brother, Duncan. It would burst into fragrant white blossoms in February. She let herself into the house and headed through the small dining room to the spacious kitchen, her mom’s pride and joy. Dropping her bag on the hardwood floor, Kendra dialed her best friend’s cell. If anyone would enjoy this story, it was Lena.

“Hey, Kendra, what’s up, Byron giving you trouble?”

“I don’t think he knows how to make trouble.” She helped herself to a can of lemon-flavored sparkling water from the stainless-steel refrigerator and pushed through the sliding glass door out onto the deck overlooking their pool, which overlooked their terraced hill lush with her mom’s rather overgrown gardens, which overlooked Redondo Beach and beyond that Los Angeles, the Pacific and the Santa Monica Mountains. “It’s a different kind of dog giving me trouble. Remember Jameson Cartwright?”

“Yes. Ew. Don’t tell me he got in touch with you.”

“Sister Matty called me. Jameson was injured on his first day of Air Force training last month.” She dragged out a chair from the iron table set her parents had bought soon after they were married and turned it toward the view.

“Last month? What’s he been doing all this time? I thought everyone in his family ran to the Air Force as soon as they got out of diapers.”

“Nope.” Kendra sank into the chair and propped her feet up on the railing. “He took two years off to run around Europe. Spain in particular.”

“Two years? No kidding. So what did Matty want?”

“She wants me to work with him.”

“You’re kidding! That obnoxious, bullying... How come? What happened?”

Kendra started smiling before she even opened her mouth. “He’s depressed because he tore up his knee at Keesler Air Force Base. Tripping over a cat.”

Lena gasped, then her shriek of laughter nearly burst Kendra’s eardrum. “Oh, my God! Another Cartwright hero!”

“I know.” She was giggling again, guiltily this time.

“Brought down by a pussy!” Lena snorted and chuckled a few more times. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t be laughing. I’m sure it’s hell for him. No more Mr. Tough Guy, no more hot uniforms and cool planes. Now who is he?”

“Exactly.” Kendra tipped her head back to enjoy the eucalyptus-smelling breeze. “Matty said he’s seriously depressed.”

“Ugh, I bet. So she wants you to fix up his ego and send him back into battle?”

“Yup.” Kendra waited a beat. “Maybe with a squirrel next time.”

Another shriek.

Kendra laughed with her. Yes, it was horrible to make fun of someone in physical and emotional pain, but Jameson and his twin brothers...it was sort of inevitable. Reap what you sow, Cartwrights. “One interesting fact. Matty never went into the military. She’s a working actress. I almost got the impression she had some depth.”

“No way.”

“What’s more, she implied Jameson might have some, too.”

“You have to admit, he wasn’t as bad as Mark and Hayden.”

“Not saying much.”

“True. I’ve told you his dad was a piece of work. We’d hear shouting over there all the time. I don’t know if he drank or what, but he had a hell of a temper.”

“I remember.” Not surprising. Most people who grew up bullies had a first-class role model at home. “I said I’d talk to him.”

“Of course you did.” Lena sighed. “You can’t resist trying to fix everyone. I’m not sure this guy deserves you, though.”

“I said I’d talk to him. Then I get to decide what to do. I’m curious, to be honest. Don’t tell me you’re not. You were madly in love with him.”

“Only for a few weeks! Besides, everyone was madly in love with Jameson. He was a jerk, but he was a major hottie.”

“Not to me.” Kendra shuddered. She liked men whose strength lay in kindness and caring, not muscles and manipulation. Lena had married Paul, a slender, dark-haired fellow lawyer—complete opposite of her plump blond energy—who was gentle, brilliant, funny and the nicest man on the planet. Kendra wanted one of those.

“When are you going to talk to him?”

“When I can stomach it. His sister wants me to make it seem like I’m on official business and leave her out of it.”

“Smart. If my brother thought I was trying to force him into counseling, he’d refuse on principle.”

“Uh-huh. And honestly, I think he’s probably mortified. I mean, really, a cat?”

“Oof.” Lena started giggling again. “I know, I’m terrible. If it was anyone else it wouldn’t be so funny. Call me the second you finish talking to him, okay?”

“I promise.” She hung up and sat still for a moment, remembering Jameson in grade school, bringing up his wide, smug smile from her memory bank, that weird nervous snickering he did when taunting her, looking back at his hulking older brothers for validation and support.

In elementary school he’d tripped her in the halls, put worms in her lunch, glue in her hair. In middle school he’d spread rumors that she had mysterious rashes, that she was dating a cousin, that she’d had an abortion in eighth grade, that she was being medicated for a mental illness. In their freshman year of high school he’d asked her to the school dance as a joke—pretending he wanted to date the fatty, ha-ha-ha. Then without lifting a finger, he’d denied her the class presidency she’d worked so hard for.

Why was she even considering helping this guy?

Because she, at least, was a grown-up now. Because he was hurting. Because helping people in pain was her job. Because Kendra knew depression, knew how it could sap your ability to get out of bed in the morning, how the idea of having to live the rest of your life seemed an impossibility, how feeling anything but crushing pain seemed a distant dream, sometimes not even worth going after. Didn’t matter what caused the pain, the very fact of its existence meant conquering it should be imperative.

After she’d emerged from the worst of her own grief with the support and help of an amazing therapist Lena had dragged her to, Kendra had decided she wanted to help people out of that same darkness.

For her program, she used the techniques that had helped her the most, starting slow and simple—getting out of the house and back in touch with nature, then gradually resuming favorite hobbies and activities and introducing new ones that had no memories attached. And along with that, listening, compassion and a friendly shoulder—repeat as needed.

Could she offer those things to Jameson Cartwright in good faith? She’d need to make sure she didn’t just want to prove he hadn’t won. To show him how in spite of him and people like him, she’d emerged with self-esteem intact. To parade her slender self, no longer in thick-framed glasses or drab don’t-look-at-me clothes. To show him she had the strength to survive worse than anything he’d ever dreamed of dishing out, a tragedy that put his stupid pranks and arrogance into stunning perspective. To be able to confront him in a situation in which, finally, she held all the power.

Kendra would need to check her baggage and her ego at his door. If she couldn’t be genuine in her approach, she’d do neither of them any good.

A red-tailed hawk circled lazily over a fir tree growing partway down the hill, its uppermost needles at eye level where she sat. The bird landed on the treetop, folded its feathers and stood fierce and proud, branch rebounding gently under him.

When Kendra was in elementary school, she’d found a baby hawk on the fire road below their house—how old had she been, seven? Eight? The creature had broken its wing and lay helpless to move, to fly, terrified of the sudden vulnerability.

In spite of his feeble attempts to peck her eyes out, she’d gotten the creature to the house; her mother had helped her transport it to the Humane Society. Kendra had visited often while the hawk healed, naming it Spirit. The staff had invited her to come along when they rereleased Spirit into the wild. She’d watched him soar into the sky and had felt the deep joy that comes from helping a fellow creature heal.

Kendra had thought of that bird often as she’d struggled through the first year after the crash that left her without family except for the much-older brother she’d never had much in common with who lived abroad. And she’d thought about Spirit when she’d decided on her career path, and when she met people made helpless by grief, and when she was first trying to help people who wanted nothing more than to peck her eyes out. Because she knew something they couldn’t grasp yet. That there would be a moment when she could rerelease them into the wilds of a renewed life and watch them soar.

She picked up the phone and dialed Jameson.

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